The Law of Unintended Consequences
by KBates
Summary: Jareth shows up to laugh at Sarah after a horrendous blind date, prompting them to enter a mutually beneficial agreement. But then again, nothing is as it seems when the Goblin King is involved. HEA for you happy romance lovers. Crafty Jareth. Darkish humor. One shot. This is about as 'sweet' a story as I can write without throwing up.


**Disclaimer** : I don't own the Labyrinth or any associated characters.

 **Summary** : Jareth shows up to laugh at Sarah after a horrendous blind date, prompting them to enter a mutually beneficial agreement. But then again, nothing is as it seems when the Goblin King is involved. HEA for you happy romance lovers. Crafty Jareth. Darkish humor. One shot.

 **AN** : Set in 2008 (I e, before the age of dating apps), assume Sarah is somewhere around 27/28. I saw Noah Baumbach's Mistress America (recommend it) and wanted to do a slice of life thing. With dark humor of course.

* * *

 **Part I: Sarah Williams and the Horrible Blind Date**

 _(An ironically decrepit bar that's quote, unquote affordable)…_

Sarah Williams feels like jumping onto the rickety table and screaming on the top of her lungs. It's her right, isn't it? Not only has she been unceremoniously dumped days before her birthday, yes _days_ , she also seems to have been set up on a blind date from _hell_.

Elias—her _alleged_ date—has shown up with a beard that could be attractive if groomed properly, and hair that would be stylishly wavy if… _well_ , cut and combed. He wears an old pair of jeans—not purposely distressed, but _actually_ old, with a t-shirt that has an 'ironic' message. Strangely enough, he wears loafers with no socks. In fucking November. Perhaps he'll have an 'ironic' frostbite by the end of the night.

"So, Elias, what _do_ you do?" She asks the standard question that comes up almost instantaneously on a first date—her jade eyes intent as she waits for a response.

Oblivious to the relentlessly scrutinizing eye of his date, Elias gives her a smile that _could_ be charming…were he to comb his hair and groom his beard…and change his clothes…and probably take a shower. _Ugh_ , she fumes internally, this is the absolutely _last_ time she'll ever allow Alissa to set her up.

"Sarah?"

"I'm sorry, what?" She snaps out of her critical thoughts and offers him a conciliatory smile.

"As I was saying, I'm writing my thesis on…" Elias continues as Sarah promptly blanks out—completely uninterested in the conversation. She does, however, make sure to nod during pauses just so she doesn't look zoned out.

"How about you, Sarah? What are you _passionate_ about?"

She raises her brows. "I'm not sure about passionate, but I love working in strategy at Cyzanex."

Elias's smile fades as he takes in this information. "Cyzanex the drug manufacturer?"

Stopping herself from rolling her eyes, she keeps her face expressionless. He's one of _those_. "Yup," she replies, "I basically look at sales figures and consumer demographics, it's mostly numerical."

Poor Elias just sits there, his mouth slightly agape. "Isn't that tedious?"

Raising a discerning brow, she replies, "I can technically predict which cancer drug a consumer would buy based on age, income bracket, marital status, and geographical location while simultaneously working on a strategy to get said consumer to move to a more expensive drug. Not a job I'd call tedious."

Downing a glass of water, Elias works to keep the horrified expression out of his face. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Nope," she replies with a little too much cheer for a topic so morbid. "My conscience used to twinge a little when I was younger, but I sleep rather peacefully now."

"So," he says, determinedly changing the subject, "I may be heading to St. Petersburg for some research."

Right. _Hadn't he said his thesis had something to do with one paragraph in Crime and Punishment?_ The only thing she knows about St. Petersburg is ballet. "I've always wanted to see the St. Petersburg ballet," she almost cringes as she speaks, this conversation is getting _torturous_.

"Oh, I don't know if I'll see the ballet. I'll be there on a student's budget."

And at 28, he has no money. _How lovely_. "I thought PhD candidates received some compensation from the university," Sarah asks with a frown. "Like grading papers and invigilating exams—don't they have to pay you for that?"

Elias laughs….once again, a laugh that _could_ have been charming if he groomed his beard, changed his clothes, and took a shower. "They pay us a stipend—just enough to cover dilapidated, off-campus housing and coffee. I don't think money should matter in life, you know?" he asks rhetorically before continuing, "I think _passion_ matters more than anything else."

 _Oh God_ , he _is_ one of _those_ , she thinks with a mental groan. "So what are you passionate about—being a professor?"

"Research mainly. I may do a post doc—or stay in academic research—maybe apply for an associate professor's post after a few years of experience. Tenure can take more than a decade, especially in a good university."

She gapes at that—"that long?"

He grins an easy grin. "For a decent position? Sure," he laughs at her expression. "A not so decent position in a community college? Not so much."

 _Good lord_. She shakes her head in quiet shock. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping my boundaries here, but that sounds really depressing. No wonder most of my TAs were so bitter." Signaling the service staff for another drink, she wonders if she should just make up some sort of emergency now and bolt.

"In a fair world, we'd get paid about as much as anyone else for following our passions instead of-"

"Instead of what? Selling out?" she snorts as she blurts out. She winces almost immediately afterwards—perhaps she should have gone easy on the drinks.

There's a flash of hostility in Elias's otherwise friendly eyes. "Yes. There should be _more_ to life than money."

Sarah rolls her eyes. She knows she should shut the hell up, but she's on a roll and just can't stop herself. "As 'passionate' as you may be about Dostoevsky—is it worth going to school till you're fucking 30—and _then_ being stuck in jobs that pay pitifully until you _miraculously_ luck out and get a good position in a non-fuck-all university? _Jesus_. That sure as _hell_ doesn't sound like a _passionate_ life to me."

Elias only gives her a serene smile before standing up abruptly from his seated position. "Sarah, I don't think we should subject ourselves to each other's company any longer. I'm going to leave you with the bill because you can clearly afford it better than I can."

Saying that he leaves her sitting at the table, in the oh-so-uniquely decrepit bar, completely and utterly dumbfounded. Has _she_ just been rejected by _him_? The scrawny, in-desperate-need-of-a-beard-trim-and-shower lumberjack-esque, broke PhD candidate?

She stares at his retreating form when a faint echo of laughter interrupts her thoughts. "Sarah dear, you always were _such_ a _brilliant_ conversationalist."

Snapping out of her shock, she stares at the magical being who's suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a frown gracing her forehead. The Goblin King sits across from her, a deeply amused expression on his imperious face. He looks like he hasn't aged a day since they last met—his cheekbones are just as sharp, as are his teeth, which are now bared in a wolfish grin. Unlike the 'passionate' Dostoevsky fan, he's dressed in form fitting gray pants and a crisp white shirt—not exactly ideal for November, but the bastard's probably immune to frostbites.

Her frown deepens—trust the bastard to show up right when she _least_ needs it. Throughout the last decade or so, he's shown up just at the _exact_ moments where she feels most humiliated. Her face turns red as she recalls how he'd shown up during her first internship, when she'd accidentally spilled her boss's coffee all over… _well_ , her boss. That was probably the worst chewing out she'd ever received and Jareth had laughed heartily for a long, _long_ while. The last time she'd seen him was three years ago, right before she started going out with Kenneth.

"Two more of what the lady's having, please," the Goblin King commands the waiter before leaning back and making himself comfortable.

"Goblin King" she says his formal name, eyes narrowing into frosty slits. "If you're here to mock me, don't bother." She stands up, as if she's going to leave.

The Goblin King gives her a jaded look before sighing deeply. "Sarah darling, what an awful way to treat an old friend." A slow smile twists his lips, "Now stop your theatrical display and sit down."

She pauses and frowns at his commanding tone, but remains standing. "Why are you here?"

Instead of answering her, he gives her a condescending smile. "A prospective suitor, was he? You disappoint me, Sarah—one would assume, with your beauty and my subtle influence in your life, you'd be able to _charm_ suitors instead of…you know… _that_ contemptible display."

"He _wasn't_ a prospective suitor," she says through gritted teeth—the fact that he hasn't answered her question hasn't escaped her. "He was a blind date. And I'm going to kill Alissa the next time I see her."

"Hmm," he says noncommittally, as he takes a sip of his drink. "Regardless, your lack of finesse is quite appalling. You did just crudely _insult_ his life's work, you know—most mortals tend to be touchy about such things."

She snorts and sits down, albeit warily. "He should get over it—he's _researching_ a paragraph in a book that's already been written. It's not like he's _researching_ a new theory in nuclear physics or finding a cure for AIDS."

" _Sa-rah_ ," the Goblin King mock chides as he stretches out her name. "How _cruel_ of you to dismiss him so easily. Especially considering that _you_ work in an establishment that seems to profit from disease and decay."

"That's pretty rich coming from someone who works in kidnapping children," she retorts with fire in her eyes, "Why are you here, anyway—can I do something for you?"

He grins an all canine grin. "You can do many things _to_ me, precious thing," his tone is salacious. "I suggest we head to your apartment or we may scandalize the service staff of this charming establishment."

Goosebumps erupt across her flesh. His voice holds a teasing edge, but the look of hunger in his eyes is unnerving.

"Yeah, right," she replies with a not-so-convincing roll of her eyes. "

"I'm absolutely serious," his voice is low and smooth, and the look in his eyes scorching.

She gulps twice before finding her voice. "Stop with the innuendo already, it makes you come across as a sex starved old man who's overdosed on Cialis."

A jagged grin. "And _there's_ the characteristic charm and wit I remember." The sarcasm in his voice is as sharp as a knife.

She gives him a withering look and is about to tell him to go to hell when her phone rings—'Alissa' flashes across the screen and she swipes the device. "I'm _never_ going to let you set me up again," she tells her friend. "First, it was the 'save the whales' guy, next, it was the middle school teacher, now _this_?"

Alissa, unfortunately, takes no notice of Sarah's harsh tone. "What did you say to Elias? He's depressed."

"Uh nothing," Sarah replies, confused—isn't _she_ the one who's supposed to be angry? "Just that his life didn't sound very appealing to me."

"Oh Sarah—he says you gave him an identity crisis. _I_ have to cheer him up now." Saying that, Alissa ends the call—leaving Sarah slightly disturbed by the exchange.

The Goblin King raises a sardonic brow. "I feel like I should say something witty about your lack of communication skills, but seeing as to how you're actually upset, I shall restrain myself."

She takes a large gulp of her drink. "Apparently, I made the scrawny lumberjack sad…which shouldn't bother me, but it does."

"Perhaps you have a human heart after all, my villainess," the arrogant monarch says with a twist of his lips, a hint of wistfulness in his deep voice.

 _Villainess_? She huffs at that. "Seriously though, _why_ are you here?" She notices his lips twitch with suppressed amusement and that irritates her all the more.

He rakes his eyes through her form, a hint of malice in his gaze. "To dance atop my enemy's corpse and bathe in her blood."

Her blood turns ice cold and her heart feels like it's going to stop. She opens her mouth to speak but her voice seems to be frozen as well.

"Figuratively speaking, of course," he adds with a wicked, wicked grin.

Letting out a woosh of air in relief, she glares at him as her heart still beats maddeningly in her chest. "Go to hell, you bastard."

"Come now, precious—you can do better than that," he says reproachfully, as if he expects a better comeback.

Standing up on shaky legs, her body still rife with adrenaline, she signals for the bill. "Good bye, Goblin King."

"Sarah, wait." His voice is soft but arresting all the same.

Surprisingly, she does stop—she gives him a hard glare. "I'm going through a rough patch, alright? My boyfriend of three years dumped me for a fucking model and I desperately need a date for a mutual friend's wedding this weekend. And the only dates I've found so far are-" she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand indicating Elias's empty seat. "Men like _that_."

A raised brow. "The studious Elias is not to your liking then?"

Her glare remains as she crosses her arms. "It's all _your_ fault—so you can gloat about that as well."

A look of bemusement crosses the Goblin King's face as he ponders her words. "As much as I'd like to hear your logic behind _that_ particular accusation, I'd much rather have this conversation somewhere private."

Her eyes narrow in suspicion—he's never hung out with her before. Why is he starting now? " _You're_ interested in having a conversation about _my_ life?" That too somewhere private…

"Tremendously. I take it you have a place of residence in this…" he looks outside the gritty window, "…crowded city of yours—shall I take us there?"

What the _fuck_ …is he suggesting they go back to her place? Throughout the years he's randomly shown up, he's never _once_ indicated, even to the _slightest_ degree, that he may be interested in her. Well, apart from his innuendos—but those were mostly superficial—nothing too serious.

"Sarah?"

Her gaze snaps back to him as she takes his hand.

* * *

 **Part II: Two Old Friends**

 _(Sarah's apartment, a few hours of conversation, and a bottle of wine later)…_

"Excuse me, I have to take this," she says as Karen's name flashes on her phone. "Hey Karen. Nope, total failure." She rolls her eyes at Jareth as she speaks of her horrendous date. "Mr. Swartz's grandson? Um, no—I need someone who'd rattle Kenneth's ego."

Walking away from a very bemused Goblin King, she says, "I know he's a doctor, but Kenneth wouldn't be impressed. Besides, he knows I don't have a thing for doctors. Too boring." Walking to her kitchen, she pulls out another bottle of wine from the rack. "Oh my god, Karen, stop trying to get me hitched already, I'm only 28—you're sounding like the Taliban." She twists the corkscrew, "Or that weird Warren Jeff's cult. What next? Should I get a sister wife and reproduce as much as I can, because what good is a woman if not for her ability to birth progeny." She laughs at whatever Karen says next before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

He watches the exchange with acute interest. "Your stepmother?"

Rolling her eyes as she pours both of them a fresh glass of wine, she nods. "She thinks I'm too picky—which, by the way, is _your_ fault."

An amused brow. "And why is that?"

She sighs, settling into her couch more comfortably. "Nice guys bore the bejesus out of me. I should give Mr. Swartz's grandson a shot, but eh," she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, "the 'I like to save lives' type men have always seemed dull to me. And _then_ I get royally screwed because dating a power hungry, narcissistic, opportunist isn't exactly the smartest thing to do."

He looks at her like he hasn't understood a word she's said. "Whatever you say, precious."

"Forget that," she says with a shrug, the wine and drinks earlier having loosened her a bit, "what are you doing here? I mean, you've never hung out with me before." She eyes him intently, awaiting an answer. Perhaps a bit more anxious than she should be.

He flashes her a toothy smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Perhaps I thought I'd start… _hanging out_ …with you more often."

She raises her brows. "What?!"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Uh, yeah," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You've never been…" her words die on her tongue as his gaze turns heated. "You've never…" she starts again, only to leave the thought incomplete.

A deep sigh. "I have a proposition for you, precious. One that will benefit us both."

The hairs on her neck and upper arms stand up as her buzz dies down. The last proposition he'd made almost turned Toby into a goblin.

Rich laughter echoes against the walls of her smallish apartment. "Don't look so suspicious, Sarah. I only wish to propose that I accompany you to your friend's wedding this weekend, while you attend a… _similar_ event in my realm."

 _Oh please_. She snorts. "Really?"

His gaze remains steady. "Really."

"You have an ex you want to show up?"

He laughs again, this time his laughter sounds more genuine. "No, precious. I'd like some…fresh company…I've been thoroughly bored for the last few centuries."

 _Few centuries_? _Jesus_. "What's the catch?"

A quizzical brow. "Catch? I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean."

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, catch. Fine print. Trap—what do I have to give up this time?"

Placing a gloved hand by his heart, he gives her a mock-wounded look. "You paint me the villain so easily, precious. I only require the invariable pleasure of your company, at a similar event. Nothing more."

Hmm. Against her better judgment, she nods slowly. "You'll do everything in your power to make Kenneth jealous?"

He flashes his teeth in a feral smile. "Of course. Think of it as two old friends, helping each other out."

"Deal."

* * *

 **Part III: Public Display of Affection**

 _(Sarah's apartment, a few hours after said mortal wedding)…_

" _You_ ," she points a finger directly at his chest, "I can't believe you did _that_."

A deep sigh. "And here we go with the theatrics again. Really, Sarah, _do_ grow up. I only did what you asked of me."

She glares at him, her eyes burning brightly. "You almost gave me a fucking orgasm on the dance floor. What is wrong with you?"

He shrugs elegantly and raises a brow. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it, precious thing. Your Kenneth was standing in the corner most definitely jealous of our passionate display." He laughs at the look of outrage in her face, his rich voice reverberating against her ears. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do recall your exact words being ' _everything_ in your power to make Kenneth jealous.'"

Biting her lower lip in frustration, she growls. The bastard is way too literal, and he's correct of course. Kenneth _had_ been jealous—the thought puts a smile on her lips. He and the model were on rocky terms, it seemed, and he regretted his actions. And _Jareth_ …her eyes go hazy as she remembers the evening…he'd seduced her merely by trailing his fingers down her back and grazing his lips and teeth down her neck. He'd kissed her as if he were trying to devour her very soul, one hand at her waist and another splayed below her breast—not that her friends are prudes, but that was a _scandalous_ display of public affection. They'd probably talk about it for months. Desire thrums through her veins as she recalls the passion he aroused within her.

He smiles condescendingly, _knowingly_ , before giving her a mock bow. "I shall bid you goodnight, precious thing."

Wait— _what_? "You're leaving?" she exclaims, her eyes wide. After that heated display. After making her swoon. After igniting such desire within her body, he is going to _leave_?

"Yes, of course," he says with the raise of a perfectly arched brow, a hint of cruel amusement in his dual eyes. "Did you think I would stay the night…with _you_?"

She doesn't answer—merely stands there, her mouth agape like a demented gold fish.

"Oh, my poor little precious," he croons, a gloved finger trailing down her cheek.

Jerking away, she grips his wrist, her face now contorting in anger. "Fuck you, Jareth." Her wounded pride only seeks to fuel her anger—which, unfortunately, seems to delight him.

"Not literally, darling, you don't have the privilege," he teases. "I really must leave now, _Sa-rah_. But I shall return to collect my debt."

"Over my dead body," she screams, letting out a frustrated huff as she realizes that he's already gone. His deep laughter remains, however, just to cause her further torment.

* * *

 **Part IV: Fine Print**

 _(The Goblin King's castle, Underground, a few months later)…_

"So, who's getting married?" she asks, dressed in a sleeveless, column gown that looks like it's made of spun gold that's so pale it almost looks silver. It's a dress he provided for her when she said she wouldn't know how to dress for an Underground wedding. Her hair falls straight down her back and diamond studs adorn her ears, it's the most expensive piece of jewelry she owns.

He tilts his head, a slow smile on his lips. "It's of no consequence to you—now that you're _here_ , that is."

She rolls her eyes. Trust him to speak in riddles every time he could. "Fine, don't tell me." She studies his look, unable to stop herself from admiring his form.

The Goblin King stands tall, clothed entirely in a dark shade of midnight blue. His boots are made of leather she's never seen before, and his hands are ungloved. "Come."

Frowning, she takes his arm. Damn bastard doesn't have to be so intimidating—she _is_ keeping her end of the bargain after all. She looks around the castle, studying little details that she finds fascinating—until she realizes they're in front of a large wooden door. Turning to Jareth, she raises her brows, noticing, for the first time that his grip on her arm is absolutely unyielding.

He doesn't say anything—merely leads her into what looks like a hall.

She follows along, frowning when she realizes the room is empty save for a very high desk type thing at the very end, which seemed to have a very large, open book spread out…this makes no sense to her. Hadn't he called her here for a wedding? Where were the guests? Hell, where were the bride and groom?

And just like that the wheels in her head start spinning and everything falls into place. "Jareth," she begins, her voice shaky, "Who's getting…married?"

"Oh, precious," he murmurs, his steely grip getting stronger by the second—as if he expects her to bolt. "I decided to take responsibility for your predicament?"

She gulps. "Predicament?" _What the fuck is he talking about?_

"Yes," he replies, his lilting voice beginning to sound amused. "I feel a tremendous sense of responsibility, it's like a rock that sits atop my chest," he pauses dramatically for a few moments, "For drawing you towards power hungry, narcissistic, opportunists."

"It's alright," she babbles nervously. "I'll get over it."

He raises his fingers to her lips, ignoring her words. "I just _couldn't_ live with myself knowing that I'd subjected you to such a fate, precious thing—so…I've decided to _remedy_ the situation."

"Really, I'll get over it," she says, her voice coming out as a nervous shout. He couldn't… _could he_? Weren't there rules for this kind of thing? He couldn't just break them… _could he_?

Placing his fingers below her chin, her tilts her face so he's looking directly into her eyes. "No, you will not."

* * *

 **Part V: Consummation**

 _(The Goblin King's chambers, a few hours later)…_

"Really, Sarah, you've screamed yourself hoarse twice and fainted three times within the last hour. I am beginning to get irked."

"Irked?" she exclaims, her eyes now livid and her face wild with rage. "I give zero fucks, Jareth—let me go."

Laughing a derisive laugh, the Goblin King takes off his jacket and loosens his shirt collar. "Precious thing, we have just signed a marriage contract—we must really get on with the consummation part," his voice is low and teasing and his eyes dance with laughter and something else. Victory, perhaps.

She paces the room, giving out a scoff as he says the word 'consummation.' _As if_. "I didn't sign anything," she retorts, "You cut me with a knife and took my blood forcefully."

Jareth raises his eyes heavenward. She _is_ actually beginning to irk him. "I pricked you with a small knife, precious—do not exaggerate the event. Consider the contract signed."

"I can't _believe_ you'd sink this low, Jareth," she says, ignoring his words, still pacing the room angrily—her footsteps echoing loudly against the stone walls of the room. "I agreed to _attend_ a similar event with you—not to _be_ the fucking bride in some twisted fantasy of yours."

"Semantics."

 _Ugh_. She whirls around, resolutely going to give him a piece of her mind—instead, she lets out a startled shriek.

Standing only millimeters behind her, shirtless, Jareth smirks as he sees her eyes widen. "The last we met, Sa-rah, I recall drawing a very different reaction from you." His lips ghost over hers and his voice lowers an octave, "Why's _that_ , precious thing?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but her lips only open wide—as if incapable of forming words. She feels his breath hot against her face—and the intensity of his gaze, as if he's consuming her with his strange eyes. He trails a finger down the column of her throat, his smirk deepening into a full-fledged grin, when he hears her gasp.

"Because I wanted you to stay," she replies finally, resisting the urge to lean into his touch as he trails his fingers across her collar bones. She closes her eyes, shivering as his fingers stroke the exposed parts of her skin.

Going for the kill, Jareth leans into the trembling mortal and crushes his mouth against hers.

 _(Currently…in the Goblin King's chambers…a few days after the 'impromptu' wedding)…_

"Just because we've had mind blowing sex for the last few days doesn't mean I'm your bri-"

He silences her with his lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth in slow, languid thrusts. One hand entangles itself in her lustrous hair while the other… _well_ , he knows exactly what to do with the other.

She throws her head back, moaning in equal measures agony and ecstasy. The bastard seemed to know places within her body that even _she_ hadn't discovered. Letting go of her inhibitions, she kisses him back with equal fervor—and so they dominate each other's senses for a long, _long_ while.

In the hazy aftermath of pleasure, she places her chin on his chest and peers into his eyes. "This can't go on forever, Jareth."

A lazy grin. "No…of course not."

"I'm fucking serious."

"Interesting choice of words, precious thing. As am I."

She gives him a hard glare. "No, you're not."

"Come now, _Sa-rah_ ," he teases, "What makes you say that?"

"The tone of your voice, you deliberately make everything sound… _dirty_ ," she sighs as she feels him caress the sensitive skin of her chest. _He's ready to go again?_ "How the hell do you even have the stamina to go on for days? Do they sell magic Viagra in the Underground?"

His gaze turns predatory. "That you would even suggest such a thing, precious thing…" he moves, positioning himself between her legs, his lips taste the skin of her abdomen, "…warrants a lesson."

And so he teaches her a blissfully slow lesson. He doesn't stop until she begs for mercy.

* * *

 **Part VI: Resolution**

After a few… _illustrious_ …months of convincing, Sarah agrees to stay back with Jareth as his Queen. She figures that as long as she's drawn to power hungry, narcissistic, opportunists, she may as well go for _the_ _most_ power hungry, narcissistic, opportunist.

Jareth never does tell her whether they sell magic Viagra in the Underground. Upon taking into account that Jareth's magical penis never seems to go down or soften, Sarah draws her own conclusions.

* * *

 **AN** : Any thoughts on Jareth's magic penis?

I never put in my own life events in fanfics, apart from one scene where a [very] minor character says most people in BDSM clubs look more like Danny DeVito than Brad Pitt (a friend of mine actually said this).

However—when I was all of 22, working at my first 'real' job, making a decent living, I'd gone out on one disastrous date with this 27 year old PhD candidate.

Within the first ten minutes, I somehow, inadvertently, ended up insulting him, his 'research,' his life goals, his income—everything! And I really didn't mean to, lol. Anyway, the guy left me with the bill saying I could afford it better than he could.

Lesson learned—sensitive men in academia were not for me.


End file.
